Ashley's Arabian Adventure

As I was sitting at the gate in the Athens airport waiting to head home, I reflected on my time in Greece and then about what I have learned since living overseas. After interacting with some not so nice American tourists, I thought to myself about how I'm not really a typical American anymore. I think that Americans are taught to be arrogant about being American and being from the most powerful and well-known country in the world. Of course we do everything better than other countries, so why wouldn't we feel that way? As I sat there thinking about how much I've grown into this amazing citizen of the world, a lady comes and asks me to put my bag into the metal hand-luggage size checker of death. In case you are unaware, EasyJet charges you extra to check a bag and it isn't much if you do it ahead of time, but last minute you really don't want to pay for it.

As I am walking over to the size checker thing, I am thinking that my bag might not fit and this is going to suck. Of course the bag doesn't fit and the lady tells me I have to check it. I told her I was not going to check it. She explains that I can either leave the bag behind or check it or give it another go in the sizer thing. Well I decide to try again and tell her once more that I was not going to check the bag. When I set the bag up there, it was obvious that the wheels were the problem and I tell the lady that the wheels are the problem and she says too bad. I then tell her that she is welcome to break the wheels off because I am not checking the bag. She says she doesn't care what I have to do, but the bag is not going on the plane until it has made it's way into the thing. As I am considering putting all of the clothes from the suitcase on my body to get them home, I give it a couple of big shoves and it goes in. Then it wouldn't come out. Great. The airline lady made some comments and ended up getting it out and I went back to my seat.

As soon as I sat down embarrassment washed over me. I couldn't believe that I had acted like that. And how much more ridiculous am I that I thought I was better than other American tourists because I knew how to behave abroad. I laughed at myself and knew that I had to apologise to her. So as I boarded the plane and sheepishly handed her my American passport I told her how sorry I was for being rude. At first she looked at me like she didn't understand me so I repeated myself and her face lit up with a smile and she informed me that she experienced the same thing everyday. I wonder if anyone else has ever apologised to her. Have you ever acted a fool and had to apologise afterwards? It's pretty humbling.

I have been checking into the logistical stuff for my move here soon. Well I only get 20 kilos of luggage with my flight and excess baggage is about $22/kilo. I'm going to be looking into air freighting, I think. Also, I am sorting through all of this junk I have accumulated over the past year and a half. My piles are take with, take to America in May, leave here and take to America later, sell/give away and throw away. Fun.

Another problem is culturally appropriate clothing. It turns out I don't have much of it. So while figuring out how to pack lightly for a move, I am still shopping for things to take. Boo.

The fun part is I have a sewing machine from my mom! I am getting all Martha Stewart on some of my clothes and they are becoming culturally appropriate. I forgot how much I love to sew!

One more note for you. I filled out this online thing a few months ago for The X Factor. I was bored and I thought it would be funny to act a fool since I can't sing. Anyway I got an invitation to audition in the mail yesterday. I considered going and acting like I thought I was good and probably name-dropping some friends and hoping to get on the show. But it turns out that would require standing in the queue at the O2 arena for like 12 hours. Not worth it.

I am just under three months away from something completely different and my European adventure is coming to a close for now. When I think about what is coming, I am so excited and ready to jump in with both feet. Well mostly. Starting over is always a bit difficult. I may not have very many friends and I may not have too much of a social life, but I have my community and my routine here. I am not nervous about going to a new place, but I am nervous about starting over. A new house, new furniture, new clothing, new people, new job, new language, new culture, new food...I'm nervous, but so excited. The thing that really makes me sad is leaving what has become home. When I first got here I never thought this place would truly become my home, but it has. I am used to not seeing the sun for weeks and not ever wearing shorts. I have even come to appreciate my pasty whiteness and I feel like a mole when the sun comes out.

I have made many references to the paying to pee in London, I'm sure. It irritates me anywhere but in Victoria station. I'm sure you are asking why, so let me answer that for you. Most places cost 50p (about 75 cents) and they are gross toilets. If you can't keep them clean, why in the world am I paying to use them? Anyway, Victoria's potties only cost 30p and they have those super cool speedy hand dryers. You know, the ones with the "air blade?" And Victoria's toilets are usually really clean. I'm down to pay when I know it's going to be clean.

So let me find my way back to the point to my story. Oh, so you have to have exact change for these superior toilets. There are change machines about two feet away, so no big deal. But what do you do when both change machines are out of change and you are about to pee your pants? Yep, I had to jump the arm thing. I was a bit embarrassed and slightly worried that someone would come after me.

The trip to Scotland was probably my favorite so far. We were only there for two days, but we had the best time. We participated in this torch thing for the start of Hogamany, climbed a volcano and watched a cheesy video about the Loch Ness monster. Well, and of course we did a ton of shopping. That was a lot of fun, but the most important thing was the amazing mexican food! We ate at the same place both days. It was so good. Yeah.

Oh the new year! It's always a bit exciting. We get to get all dressed up and go to a party and make new year's resolutions that we will ultimately forget about in approximately 4.7 days. Then we feel like failures of course. Why do we even make new years resolutions? Do we feel like we can only make major changes in ourselves when a new year begins? Why do people make 15 of them and really believe they will achieve something?

Well this year some friends and I were joking and making resolutions for each other. Of course it doesn't take long for that to hurt someone's feelings, as I'm sure you can imagine. The one that was made up for me was to be nicer. I tend to think I am generally nice, but as I started to think about it I realized that I'm not. Sure, I'll do anything for people I like. I'll serve in anyway I can...when it's a person I like. And even when I consider the people I like, I'm still not very nice to them. In any given conversation, I will probably say something sarcastic or rude. Even when I am trying to be nice or consciously thinking about not being sarcastic, it comes out somehow. I started to ask myself why.

I guess it goes back to about 7th grade. I realized that all the cool kids were the ones who had something sarcastic to say about everything. There was this guy called Andrew who was the funny guy that everyone liked. He always had a funny little quip for anything that was said or done. Being in the 7th grade and wanting to be cool, I started doing this. It's been downhill ever since. Now, ten years later, I can't shake it. I have been able to keep a small portion of these comments in my head, but there are times, well lots of times, when that filter seems to be out of order. And really, I would like for these comments to go away completely. I want to be filled with love for people rather than rude thoughts and words. But, in all actuality, I don't know how to be nice. I don't know how to stop this monster.

I thought I had it this year. I mean last year was my first Christmas without the family and all, so this year I should be a pro at it. Aaaand my wonderful friend Anna is here sacrificing her Christmas with her family to spend it with me. That means I shouldn't be having a pity party, right? I suck at this.

We have known each other for many years, but there has never been any attraction. Actually I have been quite avoidant all this time. However my interest was peaked this summer. We spent a lot of time around each other and it was rather unavoidable. As I considered it, I thought it might actually work. It couldn't possibly be as bad as I thought at least. I gave in little by little and by the end of the summer I was all about it. As I returned to the UK my interest didn't falter, but grew stronger and stronger. This week I realised that it is official; I am head over heels. It kind snuck up on me, really. Who knew I could like coffee this much? I may need to switch to decaf though.

I have recently discovered that being in my line of work and living in a cool place like England makes for many trips to the airport. And when there is a great coffee shop with a great view of the international arrivals area, who can complain? Well last night I went to go pick up a friend from Madrid and her flight ran a little late. That was fine because we still had an hour until the last train back. Well, she had some problems coming through passport controls and we ended up on the last train home. This would have been fine except the train wasn't making the usual announcements about where it was stopping and such. I didn't realise this until the train was leaving my stop. Yikes! So we got off at the next stop and discovered that there wasn't another train going the other way and stopping at my stop. We debated on going back to the airport and taking a taxi from there since it was much closer than where we were, but that train wasn't leaving for 40 minutes and is was almost 1am anyway. In the end we decided to just take a taxi from there and about $60 and over half an hour later we made it home. I am pretty sure the guy took the long way, but oh well. I was just thankful that the first time I ended up stuck I wasn't alone! The sidewalks pretty much roll up at about 6:00 here, so 1:00 in the morning would be a bit scary alone, I think.

British boys like to cry. Actually most European men seem to be a bit too in touch with their feminine side. They wear manpris and skinny jeans. As it turns out, English guys aren't very good looking either. I must have forgotten how good-looking American men are. I first noticed this several months ago with that English guy I went on a couple of dates with. I actually met him the day after I moved here. The first time I saw him, I did not think he was cute at all. Several months later, when we started hanging out, I noticed that he was actually good looking. Or so I thought. When I was in America for a week I caught myself checking out just about every guy I saw. I kept thinking that there was an unusal abundance of hotness in my vicinity. It turns out, I realised, that I just wasn't used to seeing manly, hot guys.

As The X Factor was sending Diana home, Eoghan starts bawling. Yeah, he's going to feel pretty retarded when he sees that later. A friend of mine, after seeing this display of emotion, was telling her daughter to date guys who sweat and not guys who cry. This can be a difficult task when living in any European country, I believe. But as I thought about that statement I realised that it pretty summed it up for me. He has to love Jesus and he has to get sweaty. And I guess the only other important thing is that he has to be hilarious. So I guess I want a funny, sweaty man of God.

After writing this I realised that it may not quite be appropriate to post since I gave this blog address out to everyone, including little old ladies from my church. But I am just going to acknowledge the awkwardness and post it anyway. That's how I roll.